From a Halo of Feathers
by Jam Striped Panda
Summary: AUish. He was out to prove, in a way that only a genius like himself could understand, that it took a certain breed of criminal to subdue the rest. That heroism was just a falsity that tried to prove justice and injustice were not one in the same.
1. One

**disclaimer: **I don't own Batman. I just don't. I'm only borderline psychotic, not over the top like half the characters, o-k? The bold faced lyrics are from _Megalomania _by Muse.

**a/n: **So yeah. I just recently re-watched Batman Begins and Dark Knight. I don't know but, I just kept noticing how Johnathan looks like a woman. A /woman/. He sounded like one to me at first as well, and my cousin mentioned some random things. I've also been thinking about the topic of "genius" lately. Noticing how that relatively all characters referred to as geniuses are either psychotic, on the deranged side, twisted, or are completely different than they portray. At least from _Death Note_, and _Prince of Tennis_ as far as I can tell that's what they are like. I'm like that in a way, and I this is just the result.

Enjoy, please. (:

**

* * *

Useless device, it won't suffice.  
I want a new game to play  
When I am gone.  
It won't be long, before I disturb you in the dark.**

People could wrap themselves up in their delusions all they wanted; believing that this 'Batman' could bring down crime in Gotham. In all reality it was just a lie- the man behind the mask's desire to believe there was no such thing as injustice in the world. Lies, lies, lies; he could tell the Batman that even if crime went away, then there would be no such thing as justice. They were one in the same, opposites, without one the other would cease to exist. Heroes, nay, vigilantes just never seemed to see what happened beyond the mask.

He was here to fix that. No, you shouldn't get him confused with that fool of a Joker – no, he was worse, because the Batman had already defeated him. Locked him up nice and tight, getting treatment for his psychotic tendencies. What the Caped Crusader should have thought of was that not all villains show their real self that easily. The him that the hero had seen, was just one of many he could portray out of countless personalities he had invented for any purpose. Really – he wasn't considered a genius for nothing. Geniuses were the worst types of criminals; because they were dangerous beyond belief. Normally criminals had a motif, but geniuses can do things simply out of boredom. Which led many to believe the Joker was a genius; the smiling man was not that adept.

Truth was, people like him knew the methods the Joker used were lower-class, and that his plans weren't all that chaotic. The green-haired fool was merely good at using his resources, be they alive or not. People, barbaric things like that, could not understand the truth behind a few of the quickest to capture, but deadliest criminals out there. The type of criminals that want to be caught; to delude the capturer that that was all there was to them. A game, perhaps they only saw it as. Intelligence was a double-edged sword, one must know how to wield what they have to get anywhere. And to keep themselves from beings outwitted by someone smarter.

Sitting there, slender hands digging into the bedsheets, he knew. He simply knew where the weak points in the bars were, the best place to remove them without much commotion. All of it just came naturally, and for that he cursed the angels. Cursed the melodic sound that came through the tiny, barred window that let in sunlight now and then. Taunting him, mocking him, all in all just making his temporary stay here in this hellhole miserable.

Once, he had told his psychiatrist that he could see if people were blessed by the higher beings in the world – it just led to more medication that he coughed up once the doctors had left. It was true, he could just see it. See the plumes of large, glittering wings of either white or gray. Be they elaborate in design, or just plain old wings; he just knew they were blessings. There were other variations to the wing color – usually unusual people held colors other than white or gray. The Batman had black wings tipped with the lightest gold imaginable, massive invisible things that appeared to unconsciously aide him when he 'flew'. It was hilarious considering the man dressed up as a bat, a mother fucking nocturnal creature. Joker had wings too. They were plain, small and feeble of a disgusting green color. Unpleasant and going bare as feathers fell out here and there.

The only color he had yet to see was red – he wished he could see red wings. Beautiful wings the color of blood, soft and majestic. A captivating tone that only those deemed insane by society found fascinating, except of course the doctors that willingly cut up patients.

_Red. Red, red, red, red. Red-_

Hardly paying attention as the psychiatrist walked in, her soft brown hair bouncing lightly with each step, her ignore reached deaf ears. Immersed in his own considerably jumbled mind, also trying to sort through personality choices; which would be best to disturb the overly cheerful woman?

"How are you today?"

Her voice, annoying. Aggravating, it made him want to throttle her here, regardless of the guards standing threateningly outside of the cell, weapons poised. "Delightful," sarcasm lacing his shockingly feminine tone; making him sound unreasonably vile.

Ignoring his tone another question came his way, "Care to tell me about your childhood?"

"I. Don't. Remember," he dragged his words out, as the trained professional were the stupid one. Seems she had forgotten that he was also trained in dealing with mental patients. Wasn't hard to get around the examiner's questioned; you would think with the Wayne Co.'s fundings, there would be a better staff.

Sighing, the woman seemed to understand that this wasn't going to get anywhere, and left with a huff. Her smooth, unblemished skin asking to be soiled just as his own had been. Soiled, ruined, destroyed, all of it; gone forever, never for anyone to see again. No one would find out what he hid, even if he could be saved for telling. If he did, not only would it shatter the realities of some people, but delude many more for obvious reasons. Still, it seemed only he understood the reasons.

Hours passed before he heard it; the telltale explosions of an escaping Joker. Dark locks fell into his vision, which were blown away with a soft huff. The guards rushed away from his cell to head towards the top-security one that contained the smiling monster, and he knew that this would be his chance. Long pale fingers wrapping around two bars, wriggling them forcefully he managed to pry them out of place. Slipping out through the small space with his disgustingly female thin body, he even returned the bars to their rightful places. Let them wonder, was his motive.

Then he fled, ignoring the way the sudden activity tampered with his frail body and fatigued him greater than it should have. He was going to get out, let them try and stop him. Let the Batman try and get him locked up once more in Arkham – he dared them! Most of all he dared the Dark Knight. He was different now then he was before; now he would be playing for real. For keeps. And one actually played for keeps, one's plans succeeded more times than if one didn't care about winning. The next day the headlines read _The Joker has escaped once more – for good, or not!?_

A smaller header, but still on the front page in neat, block-y letters was; _Jonathan Crane has disappeared from Arkham –_

**Paradise comes at a price  
That I am not prepared to pay.  
What were we built for?  
Could someone tell me, please?**

There is little one could do if the Joker just happened staring at you with the whites of his eyes blazing, and a brand new pistol pointed at your head. Crane knew this well, as such was the situation he was in. The Fool Himself wore a wicked grin, the scars making it look larger and even more like a Cheshire Cat grin than it should. Shuddering, the malnourished escapee regarding the weapon with slight distaste, the Joker simply had no tact.

"Well!? Used my escape as a distraction, huh, birdie? To get away from the cage they put ya in, huh?" Sickening, the voice of the wretch made the once-doctor feel like hurling. A sick feeling gathered in his stomach, creeping up into his muscles, up along his spine sending shivers throughout his body.

"Nope, sorry Joker," the other spat, face screwed up in repulsion.

The trademark nasal laughter filled the air as the madman threw his head back to the ceiling, ignoring the harsh sounds of tires outside. "Poor, poor, Johnny boy. Just can't admit ya needed me to get away, huh, huh? Birdie needed someone ta open his cage?" Apparently the Joker found this hilarious, and broke out into laughter even as another presence entered the room.

Dark wings, unfurled to the full size sent dark feathers scattering about the area, shadowed things only he could see. Only he could feel brush his skin to reveal that they were as soft as he had ever imagined, a feeling of peace and calm causing Johnathan to slump slightly. Almost, only slightly was he tempted to reach out and grasp the invisible wings – but he didn't dare with a weapon pointed in his direction. The Joker may have been an idiot, but an idiot with a weapon was still a dangerous idiot.

Suddenly the Joker stopped his laughter, painted face turning in the direction of the shadowed silhouette, "Aw. Batsy's here to ruin our fun, birdie. Isn't he just ever so rude?"

The Caped Crusader's head turned in Johnathan's direction, causing the frail looking man to flinch back, not wanting to be caught in the rage that the masked man had. Sometimes it reminded him of the past, the past where the crack of a whip would connect with his back. Hurting him, scarring his pale skin, _marking_ him. It was a similar sort of fear that would wrap itself around his throat, not promising pain, but not saying it wouldn't come.

"Joker."

Rasping, dark rough voice brought upon the memories – memories he had done his best to rid of. The suffering from his own drug, the fear toxin which he had been able to rid his body of during a rare moment of being lucid. Fear of bats, fear of the dark, fear of everything _dark_. Having suffered with that for a few months at best, it hadn't simply faded away. Making an irremovable scar on his personality, never to be truly gone, but never to be really there. A nonsense paranoia that would haunt him like the fears of past times that he didn't remember all to well.

The barrel of a pistol being waved in front of his sharp blue eyes that said he should have been blind if stories were real, snapped him out of his thoughts. A pale finger was hooked around the trigger, and the mocking voice rang out, "Hey, hey, bats. If ya want to take the birdie here back to his cage, don't make me pull ta trigger. Don't take a step forward, don't move at all."

"Drop the gun-"

"I said if ya want to take the bird back to his cage, you are going to have to cooperate, bats."

Enraged slightly at the prospect of his life being on the line just on the whim of a human criminal made the former doctor react quickly. Hands reached around to grasp the barrel of the gun and the Joker's wrist, wrenching the weapon from the hand just as the wrist was twisted painfully. Now having the weapon that had threatened him, he aimed it at the Joker's head, licking his lips in a mockery as he cooed, "Aw? Is the Fool to caught up in his own joke to laugh? That is just too sad."

Clearly the threat was obvious as the painted face rasped out, "Ya can't go through with it birdie, ya couldn't even kill bats. What makes ya think you can kill me?"

Pressing the gun against the Joker's neck, Johnathan snarled, "I'm not the Batman; I don't care if I have to kill. Besides, you need to die Joker, that much is obvious. If the hero can't do it – then why not another villain?"

A gloved hand grasped his wrist, squeezing it slightly - hold on the gun loose enough that the Joker scrambled back chuckling. The sharp, judging eyes of the former doctor slid up to stare at the Batman's own expression that stated 'death-is-not-the-answer', and snarled slightly. How dare that masked man ruin his fun before it had even begun - wait. Did, perhaps, the Batman want to finish the grinning madman on his own? Maybe the Dark Knight couldn't except that someone else could easily surprise the Joker. The classic hero in denial. Sad, that things played out in similar manners each and everyday. A repetitive occurrence, so much that even the Joker's chaos wasn't enough to cause much damage. What happened from such a poorly thought out plan, unorganized and undetermined.

Blinking, he glanced around wildly, surprised at the absence of noise. He really did have a habit of drifting off, the first thing to do once he got away from the Batman (who was still there and staring at him) was to fix that problem. Finally growing uncomfortable from the stare, Johnathan glanced sheepishly at the hero, "What?"

"Nothing."

Eyes furrowed in concentration, he examined the costume wearing (not at all crazy) man with a hint of curiosity. The man was acting strange, not only had he stopped him from killing (well that seemed natural) but he had also tried to protect him from the madman. Strange. Deciding not to contemplate anything further he huffed, "Uh huh. Yeah, nothing? Why are you staring at me, goddamnit? Do you have nothing better to do?"

The Batman seemed annoyed at that before he answered somewhat reluctantly, "I need your help." _And I had been about to break you out of Arkham to ask your help. But here you are-_

"The great Batman needs the help of me? A criminal? I wonder why," was the joking return, a hint of disgust lacing his tone. A murderous look from the dark hero nearly silenced the criminal, who was now regarding the hero with annoyance. "Well? Seeing as you aren't going to explain, does that mean I can go back to the batcave in the batmobile?"

"Its not called the batmobile. Or the batcave."

Sure, he snorted, keep telling yourself Batman. Johnathan figured the Batman was just to ashamed of his lack of naming skills to say that was what he really called them. Following the caped hero, he examined the car slightly before the dark cloth of a blindfold, well, blinded him. Damn that bat.

"You can't know where the lair is."

Johnathan cursed furiously at that, tempted to punching the bat- if he could figure out how close he was to the hero.

**Take off your disguise;  
****I know that underneath it's me.

* * *

**It doesn't make much sense. But, well, since when did anything? Just the first chapter, there are more... to come. Yeah. Sure. If people think this is amusing enough. I should be working on other stories, but I'm in the midst of a brain fart for most. The ideas have all washed away... away, so very very far away. .___."

Hmmm, whatsit you put down here? Oh yeah!

Tell me if you liked it.

If you hated it, tell me why.


	2. Two

**disclaimer: **I don't own Batman. I just don't. I'm only borderline psychotic, not over the top like half the characters, o-k?

**a/n: **I seem to have gotten into the habit of spelling Jonathan as Johnathan. Not that it matters much, but that is how my uncle spells his name, so. Want to know what's creepy? My uncle Johnathan works with "mental/psychotic" people too. Freaky much? O-o;; Although, I'm more interested in the actual causes, and, uh, making sense of it than he is. -shrugs- Whatever, right?

Yes, I know that the Joker is intelligent and dangerous. But if you think of it like I do, then it makes sense. See this is mainly from Jonathan's POV, or whatever you want to call it, and if he thinks he is higher than the Joker, then I'll type it that way. Another thing I would like to point it out is that in this fanfiction I look at it this way. There are the stupid people, there are the smart/intelligent people, and then there are the genius(es). The Joker falls into the category of smart/intelligent people. So seeing as Jonathan is in the genius(es) group, he would look down on the Joker. I did mention that during the Batman Begins, he had been playing. It was all just a fun game to Jonathan. Now he's going to get serious. There we go. I explained my freak-ish logic for once. =D

While I know Crane has a history, and a decent one at that that makes sense... Seeing as this IS fanfiction, I have the right to change it. Or at least put in my own version of it. So there. I thought I would put this in here, because I throw in a bit of what I think would influence the version of Crane I see. And I will be throwing in more here and there. Simple as that, my readers. Simple as dat. (:

You'll need to look at the footnotes for this. I'm sure, unless you know Japanese ryomaji. If not, I put footnote(s) for you. I just needed to mix another language in. Just had to, and Japanese is something I'm learning, so pah. And I happen to think Crane would sound frigging awesome (in my mind at least) speaking Japanese.

Enjoy. (:

* * *

"Listening to the prisoned cricket  
Shake its terrible dissembling  
Music in the granite hill."

- **Louise Bogan, 'Men Loved Wholly Beyond Wisdom'.  
**

_There was a thunderous roar that vibrated about, canceling all thought, all noise but itself. It was a burning thing, that made his thoughts unheard, unrecognizable. The roar from the waterfall – the largest one in Rio, mind you, made voices lose their meaning. Pounding and harsh in his ears, Jonathan wished the sound would go away. He was sure that one of the addled thoughts rushing about in his mind was important, very important. People fluttered about, around him they moved, oblivious to the child standing there. Curiously he watched, wondering what their voices sounded like, but only hearing the thunder. They could hear each other, he was sure, but he seemed to be death to all of them. And they were death to him._

_"What are you doing, Jonathan?"_

_That voice, he heard it – it cut through the roar with ease, smooth and liquid it was. Turning to face the much taller adult, he let a smile grace his chapped lips before hugging the legs of the finely dressed man. He could barely here his own voice, "Father brought me here, tenshi-san! (1)"_

_"Really? I didn't know he was that nice, young master. Since when did, such rich cruel men care about their children?" the light colored person wondered, crouching down to wrap his arms around the boy. Light green eyes stared into the blue, noting the slightest of gold around the pupil. He knew, he knew what Jonathan had suffered, because he knew everything about the boy. He simply did._

_Brushing his thin fingers against the other man's simple, plain white wings, the boy wondered why only this man he had met knew he had the wings. The man, Ki'wa he was told to call him, had given the simple explanation of him being an angel. Someone sent down to protect Jonathan from his father- for a reason he did not understand yet. Father was a nice man, he helped Jonathan not be bad._

_Brow scrunching in frustration the dark-haired boy questioned, "Why is father a bad man?"_

_"Does he believe you when you say people have wings?" Ki'wa returned, trying not to have to break the mind of a child._

_He had to think about that for a second. His father had yelled at him when he had said that the neighbor had wings. He had given him a grounding for three weeks after saying the new maid had wings as well so- "No, he doesn't."_

_Giving the child a sympathetic look, he patted the blue eyed boy on the head in a reassuring manner, "That doesn't mean it isn't true. You do see them- he is just too ignorant."_

_Pouting, the young Crane asked, "Why?"_

_"I don't know- maybe because humans fear what they can't understand."_

_Crane thought about that, that thing called fear. He didn't understand it, he really couldn't at this point of time. It was a strange thing that he couldn't put his hands on, couldn't bring himself to comprehend how it worked. All he knew was that he could associate it with the color red. Red. The color of blood – the color that had made his father frightened when it spilled from the man's twin sister's hand. Spilling everywhere, the tile, the counter, the flesh._

_And blaming it on Crane._

_It had been his fault, all his fault. He shouldn't have shouted; he was supposed to be quiet, silent and unnoticed. An object in the background, an extra in the film. Unwanted.  
_

_"Is fear like red?" he asked out of the blue, titling his head as a child would when confused._

_Ki'wa appeared confused as well, and took the time to think by brushing a few sandy locks from his face. "I suppose. Why?"_

_Something clicked, a thought bubbled up and just slipped from his mouth - "If fear is like red, then that would explain why no one has red wings. You aren't supposed to be afraid of those that are blessed. Right? But I want to see wings of red."_

_Face suddenly serious, the tenshi carefully maneuvered himself and the boy towards the fence that prevented anyone from falling into the rapids below. Giving the boy a shove towards the fence, his tone was dark and heavy, "Then, why don't you jump-"_

Eyes snapping open, he panicked as someone hovered over his newly woken form. Lashing out, he felt his nails connect with bare skin and someone step back hissing in pain. A few curse words later from a voice he swore he recognized, the blurs around the edge of his vision cleared. Surprised that he wasn't in a cave (or something of the like), Jonathan looked about the nicely furnished room. The place looked expensive, fairly so- more than he could ever afford. He found he liked the soft, earthy tones- the bed he had been placed on sunk in a little too low, but he figured that was why he had stayed asleep even if he had stirred after dropping off in the batmobile.

Speaking of bats, and people more so, who had he just lashed out at? The figure was rubbing the side of his face where angry red marks showed, and that someone reminded him of that multi-millionaire (billion, trillion- does it matter, the guy was loaded). They talked about him a lot in the prison because he was at the top of Wayne Co.- "Bruce Wayne is the Batman?" he wondered aloud, surprised at the dry sound of his own voice.

Looking shocked, Bruce managed to speak, "Is it that obvious?"

Chuckling, the genius replied with humor in his tone, "Not really. You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Wayne. Only the really smart people could possibly figure out the connection between Wayne Co.'s interest in securing Arkham, and the antics of a vigilante." With no reply from that, he decided to try his luck, "So. You said you needed my help. Are you going to tell me?"

"Not yet," And with that, he was left alone in the room.

-

Licking the dark, sweet jam from his fingers in a manner befitting a lazy kitten; his eyes looked around the old-fashioned looking cooking area. It was quaint, secure and having a feeling of being lived in. He didn't bother trying to comprehend what went through his billionaire host's mind to leave a criminal loose in his house. Perhaps it was just the mere fact that Jonathan had never been in it for the money, or 'perks' of the profession. Simply that he wanted to understand fear; and how the mind worked. "Still underestimating me, I see," he whispered, the words almost meaningless because there wasn't a 'me'. There was 'us', or 'we'- but not 'me'. There were to many of him for there to be just one. It brought about confusion, a distortion in his mind in which he could not escape. If he tried, tried really hard, he could find traces of the original Jonathan. The actual Jonathan- not any of the ones made by Scarecrow. Now it seemed all he wished, besides the childish wish to see wings of red, was to get rid of these fake people created by the Scarecrow. He wanted to be just Jonathan.

But it was simply impossible. The insane could not cure themselves. It was just not done- not _proper_.

"Damnable people," he hissed, voice hitching slightly. Placing the jar of jam back on the shelf, he washed his fingers clean of the sticky substance. He didn't need to have all sorts of things sticking to his fingers throughout the day, now did he?

Walking past the butler, Alfred, humming lightly under his breath. The man appeared to recognize the song because he gave the lanky figure an odd look- a look that said the elderly man knew that he knew a truth behind the song. "Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye; four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie. When the pie was opened the birds began to sing; was that not a dainty dish to set before the king?" His words, low and unheard as they were held a hypnotic lull, one that if someone had heard they might fear of never escaping the words.

Chuckling to himself, he wondered for a brief moment how many people killed themselves because he told them to alone- well, he wasn't in that cheerful of a mood to count the number. Jonathan would just go with the fact that it had been a great deal- even before he officially became the Scarecrow to Gotham. People, the majority of them, could only take so much. And that so much was so very little. While drifting off he found himself whispering coldly to an open hallway, "Yaseppochi (2), yaseppochi, burned at the stake."

Suddenly sick with himself, he turned with angry blue eyes flashing behind dark locks. He wouldn't be able to keep his lunch down at this rate- memories of being called a yaseppochi by the classic buff bully at his old school brought above waves of nausea. What had overcome him to insult himself? A tremor racked through the Scarecrow's mind, and it begun to wonder, wonder if it was a little of Jonathan actually showing through. Nay, he decided, that was impossible. The child that was not a child had long since gone away, slipping through the cracks into an endless silence. Devoured by the cruelty and hatred the Scarecrow felt towards humanity. Locking up what could only be known as true genius-

But that was the past. Now he was nothing more than a genius. Not true, or anything grand. Simply better than the rest.

Finding himself in a room that appeared to be for relaxation and the watching of television, the lanky figure looked around, noticing how a certain billionaire was watching the news with a forlorn expression. A mocking smirk stretched across his previously tortured expression, sharp blue eyes twinkling with a hidden mirth. Now. Now, now, now- it wouldn't be nice to play with his host, get under the man's skin, now would it? Then, when had such a thing stopped him before? "What? The spree of crime, and the usual grim news too much for the Batman to handle?"

Angry eyes flicked over to him from the well-built figure of the taller male, face drawn down into a scowl. "I'm not in the mood, Crane."

Rolling his eyes, the mocking former doctor sidled his way closer to the seated male. It wasn't as if Bruce had ever held a conversation with Crane before- so why not now? "You hardly talk. Afraid you're gonna lose your voice? Or maybe he already took it, ey, Bruce?"

Curiosity seemed to get the better of the seemingly smart rich man, "Who already took it?"

"The Batman," cooed the former prisoner, raising his arms in mockery of the Batman's cape. Laughing at the billionaire's expression, he felt his chest burning at the lack of oxygen. Alright- he had his fun, now he had to make sure his body didn't collapse on him. Laughter turning into a dry, hoarse cough he struggled to get his breathing under control. A swelling feeling in his head made his vision blur, the images going fuzzy so that he didn't catch the look of concern from Bruce. Even if he had seen it- he wouldn't have believed it. Jonathan couldn't believe that the man behind the mask had any compassion- the one in the mask surely didn't. His mind slowly assuring him that he was still breathing, oxygen being taken in and sent to the slightly depraved body. This time it was him who left without an explanation.

Now he was the one watching the television with conflicted feelings, biting his thumb till he could taste the blood. Face scrunched in what could be horror, but had to have been fascination he watched unblinkingly the movements on the larger-than-needs-to-be box. Arkham had been broken into; apparently some type of large creature had done so. And apparently, it left a signature. Deep in the concrete, a print, a large jagged bear print was set within the stone; but that was not the problem at hand. Shaking as they showed a snippet of the security feed he knew, he knew oh how he knew. This was someone Jonathan had come across before, someone he had angered once. Angered? No that was not the right word.

Humiliated would have been a better one.

He couldn't watch this anymore, his stomach was churning and twisting- threatening to rid itself of its contents at any moment. While that would have been a funny wake up call for the millionaire, he wasn't in a mood for laughs. He simply didn't know what to do with this- this nonsense that threatened him. If that thing found out where he was, at any point in time, he was as good as dead. No amount of fear toxin or honey-coated words would protect him from that monster.

Then again- it was probably more of a coincidence than anything. If the person he figured it was, really had turned criminal; then it would be for the money or recognition. Sighing, he leaned back in the chair, rubbing at temples and slightly wiping away the sweat on his brow. Shuddering, he dragged the heavy blanket he had found around himself more. It still wouldn't get rid of the chill that had descended upon his flesh, racking it with shudders and him with chattering teeth. Annoyed, but to afraid to get colder if he left the little warmth the blanket provided he glared at the sound of footsteps.

It was the middle of the night- god, couldn't the man be a little quieter?

Blinking, he could almost smack himself for being so stupid. The man was the Batman, a nocturnal thing. So it would figure that he would be up in ungodly hours of the night. Suppressing a yawn, he let his blue eyes slide over to look at the half-dressed millionaire. Snickering as the man tried to rid himself of the haze of sleep, however short it had been, the vigilante had not yet noticed that Jonathan had still been awake. "Sleepy, Batman?"

Eyes suddenly clear of the haze of sleep, the man stared sharply at the lithe other wrapped in a large blanket. "No."

"Too bad, too bad. But hey, if you are going out to ask your police-friends about the most recent Arkham incident- take me too," he said quickly, words stumbling here and there.

Confusion was written across Bruce's face, "Why?"

Face growing grave and expressionless, "Trust me, Batman. This would be in your best interest."

-

He had been told to stay in the shadows, not to show his face to the cops. Angry, but not really he listened to them talk about the possible things the creature had been. It hadn't been caught on camera- but the destruction it caused had. The thing that made most sense was that the attacker had been a bear- large, and exceptionally powerful. Yet, it couldn't have been a bear because otherwise people would have seen it before. Sighing lightly, he seemed to do that in abundance lately, he leaned against the slightly damp brick of the building. Wayne should give funds to the law so they could hire a more competent police force. The only interesting thing that had he had heard was that the attack had been rather close to the cell he had been in previously. This only clarified his worries a little more- but it wasn't as if he couldn't take care of the problem. It was just, the matter of it being illegal would restrict his ability to do so at any time.

Then he heard the words from a new police officer he recognized as being someone he had once personally gassed with fear toxin. Right, because he had to tell them the cure, everyone could get it. There wasn't much point to being scary- except to be more convincing when the he couldn't use the gas. Words, lies, tricks, and on an occasion; poison.

"Who cares if it was near Crane's cell? We would be better off without that nutcase anyways-"

Anger and a rush of adrenaline caused him to step from the shadows- right behind the new officer, words dripping like the poison he worked with, the other man shuddered. "Who cares? Why, maybe the person himself."

The feeling of several guns pointed at you at once it something only the criminal can explain to you like it is. There is a rush, everything other than what is before you is a steady blur of the background. Sounds sharpen until you might even be able to hear your attacker's heartbeat, the sense of smell intensifies even as the scents become unbearable. Things like that that Crane was feeling right now, guns aiming at his vitals, loaded and probably without the safe on.

"Enough," the Batman's voice cuts through the scene easily, harsh and deep. Controlling, commanding, controlled, obeying. The police lowered their weapons, regarding the madman with distaste as they turned questioning gazes to the vigilante. "His help is needed." But it isn't required right now.

Knowing that the Batman wouldn't give much of an explanation for the need of such a criminal, Gordon stepped in to say in a let-us-have-peace tone, "We shouldn't question that- maybe this attacker has something to do with Crane."

He laughed at that, chuckled, shook with a silent mirth. They had no idea- no idea at all. The odd looks he received made him look like the silly one, but no, they were the ones that were silly. Gathering on a rooftop with a masked man that could decide with ease he didn't want to protect their city anymore. It was laughable in itself. Push the wrong buttons on the Batman, and most definitely he could turn bad. And would anyone be able to stop him? No. Not really- well maybe if the Joker suddenly decided to be good. Now that was laughable.

As if finally deciding to answer a question, his crisp, light voice rang out, "I'm sure he does have something to do with. I mean- he blames me for his little sister's death. The brat was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Really."

Not believing him about the last bit the police were tempted to raise their guns again, but if the former doctor was with the Batman, they didn't stand a chance. While they were positive the vigilante was on their side at this point in time, the uniformed men weren't entirely sure what would happen if someone shot at Crane. It would with the intent to kill, as the man was dangerous. And in more ways than one, far more than he pegged himself to be.

But the two were gone now, vanished as was customary of the Batman.

* * *

(1) tenshi - angel, heavenly gift; tenshi-san being "Mr. Angel".

(2) yaseppochi - scrawny/skinny person, scarecrow.

Hah. That took a while, I'm ashamed. But it wasn't really my fault- I blame the fact that I was no where near a computer for the past three days. I can't really say much behind this, other than that I can write Crane fanfictions with increasing ease- I've already written a oneshot that I'm busy making prettier. It comes easily, so I think these types of fics will be my main focus. Maybe because I can relate to Crane? I mean, according to my friends I have a split personality. One is fun and crazy, another is sadistic and cruel, and the third is extremely pessimistic. There isn't a slight difference in them, they say its a major one. That I should go check it out with a psychiatrist.

Yeah, sorry, but I don't think that's true. I just have severe moodswings. =D

Anyways, something weird happened to me before I finished typing this up. I swear to you that my alarm clock said 3:00, but when I moved the sheet to get out of bed I looked up again and it said 4:30. I lost an hour of my time. God damn you alarm clock. -shakes fist- D= Or maybe some weird time warp occurred.

Moving on. x.x

If this amuses you, review.

If this makes you sick, tell me why.


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